


Best Care Anywhere

by TDWidow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, MASH (TV)
Genre: Because I adore the Weasley twins, Crossover, Fred's Not Dead, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor AU, Percy's dead instead, Portkeys, Sorry Not Sorry, Time Travel, Time Turner, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TDWidow/pseuds/TDWidow
Summary: At some point, Fred and George will learn to stop messing with things that they don't understand. And that point may be found in 1951 South Korea. Fred and George-centric, MASH/HP Crossover.





	1. In Which George Gives Fred a Birthday Present

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a substantial rewrite of one of my old stories (posted long ago on fanfiction.net), based on the fact that I have grown a lot as a writer. Also, DH came out, so I didn't have to make up details anymore about the war against Voldemort.
> 
> Also, even though _Deathly Hallows_ has been out for 11 years, I am still not over the fact that Fred died. So this is minorly AU-ish in that in my version, Percy died in that scene rather than Fred.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from either Harry Potter or MASH.

**1.**  
  
Shimmering letters in the front window of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes dissolved and reassembled themselves to say Closed. Fred and George, the twin Weasleys of note, disappeared with a crack and a wave of their wands, apparating home to the small apartment they shared. With the money they made from the shop, they could easily have afforded something larger, or nicer, or closer to home, but why waste the money when they were perfectly happy where they were?  
  
Not that their mother particularly agreed with them. Or their siblings. But no one else in their family understood Fred and George’s identical twin bond, the way they finished each other’s sentences almost to the point of reading the other’s mind, the way they each felt the physical pain of the other. Sharing a bedroom seemed the least attached part of their lives.  
  
In the year since the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the war against Voldemort, Fred and George retreated even more into their relationship. Losing Percy in battle caused them to cling tightly to each other, both sure that neither one could live without the other.  
  
Fred dropped down onto their worn, overstuffed couch. “Good to be home,” he muttered, leaning his head back and closing his eyes happily.  
  
George leaned his forearms on the back of a large easy chair. “Absolutely. Did we get an owl from Mum today?”  
  
“Don’t think so. Why, are you expecting one?”  
  
“About our birthday. I’m sure she’ll want all of us back home for an evening.”  
  
Fred groaned. “Do we have to have a birthday?”  
  
George looked hurt. “You don’t want to celebrate? Blimey, Freddie, you almost weren’t here for this one.”  
  
A flash of pain crossed Fred’s features. He tried not to think about it – how closely he had come to being the one who didn’t make it out of battle instead of Percy. “Of course I want to celebrate,” he said. “Just not up for another round of Mum’s ‘why can’t you boys find some nice girls and settle down?’ speech.”  
  
George smirked. “We could tell her the truth.”  
  
At this, Fred opened his eyes and glared at his brother. “Please tell me you’re joking. Mum would have a heart attack. And then she’d kill us.”  
  
“Okay, okay.” George gave Fred an odd look. “I do have a birthday present for us,” he finally said.  
  
“You do?”  
  
George nodded. “I made something. Or, I tried to.”  
  
“Well?” Fred glanced around. “Where is it?”  
  
“Hold on.” George disappeared into their bedroom, and returned just as quickly with something hidden behind his back. Fred craned his neck, trying to see what he was hiding. “No, no, dear brother,” George scolded. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”  
  
Fred rolled his eyes. “Come on, George.”  
  
George frowned. “It’s our birthday present,” he repeated.  
  
Fred grumbled and reluctantly shut his eyes. Pulling the object from behind his back, George said, “Okay.”  
  
Fred opened his eyes and gaped. “Wicked!” he said, watching the small hourglass swing gently on its chain. “How in Merlin’s name did you get a Time Turner?” George grinned cheekily. “Never mind,” Fred said, “I don’t want to know.” He got up from the couch and crossed the living room to where his twin stood with their prize. “What are we going to do with it?”  
  
“Well…” George said slowly. “This isn’t actually the whole present.”  
  
“It’s not?”  
  
Shaking his head, George’s eyes lit up dangerously. “I’ve turned it into a portkey.”  
  
“George!” Fred gaped at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I know classes were never high on our priority list,” Fred said. Then he smacked George’s good ear. “But didn’t you learn anything? You can’t make an enchanted object into a portkey. The magics interfere with each other.”  
  
“No risk, no reward!” George looked hopefully at Fred. “Don’t you even want to try it?”  
  
Fred thought for all of two seconds. “You know me better than to ask, brother.”  
  
George grinned, and practically skipped to Fred’s side. “This will be fun, I promise!” he said as he threw the chain around both of their necks.  
  
“How does it work?”  
  
“I think we spin it for how far we want to go back,” George said. “And then just hold on, I suppose.”  
  
“Where are we going?”  
  
George grinned. “Ever wondered what Umbridge looked like being carried off screaming by centaurs?”  
  
Fred snickered. “All right then, give it a spin, yeah?”  
  
Holding his wand to the hourglass, George gave it a flick to get it spinning.  
  
Once it started spinning, though, it didn’t slow or stop. “That’s probably enough,” Fred said as he watched.  
  
George tried to stop the disc, but his wand gave off a sharp blue spark and the spinning only went faster. He grabbed Fred’s hand as the air around them felt like it was being squeezed. “Hold on!”  
  
The portkey went off, pulling at them from inside like a hook in their stomach. And suddenly, the twins were dumped unceremoniously on the ground.  
  
George sat up and looked around. “Uh-oh.”  
  
Fred blinked. “Mum’s gonna kill us.”


	2. In Which Fred and George Wander an Abandoned Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nearly finished my rewatch of MASH, and I just finished Half-Blood Prince in my reread of Harry Potter. I love the twins so much. And I love Hawkeye Pierce a lot. MASH characters will be coming in for the next chapter.
> 
> And a reminder that this is minorly AU-ish in that Percy died in DH instead than Fred.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from either Harry Potter or MASH.

**2.**

“Mum’s gonna kill us,” Fred repeated, surveying the scene before them. The road where they had landed was dusty and dry, the horizon was sliced up by sharp mountains, and the only building they could see looked in only slightly better shape than the Shrieking Shack. He glared at George. “This is not Hogwarts,” he said.

George looked around, utterly confused. “Huh. I don’t think that was supposed to happen.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Brushing the dust from his clothes, George stood up and held out a hand to Fred. “Let’s head down this road, yeah?”

Fred glared as he grabbed his twin’s hand and climbed to his feet. “Where are we, George?” he asked.

“Well.” George looked around. “We’re not at Hogwarts. But we’re also not in Antarctica, or a Death Eater’s lair, so there’s that.”

Fred glanced down the arid road and grimaced. “What did you set the time turner for, at least?”

George shrugged half-heartedly. “I was more preoccupied with making the portkey than setting either one.”

Fred punched his brother, harder than he normally would. “Well that’s just cracking, George, isn’t it? Do you have any earthly idea where or when we are?”

“I thought it would be fine!” George said.

Fred really felt like hitting George again. “Sure, because everything we’ve ever invented has worked perfectly on the first try.” He stalked down the road, with George hurrying to keep up.

“We can just reset the time turner,” George said.

“Yeah? How many years should we set it for?”

“Well we don’t know that yet,” George said. “Because we don’t know what year it – oh.”

“Yeah. At least give me the bloody thing, so that I know it’s safe.”

George’s face fell. “You don’t trust me?” Fred gave him a withering look, and George fished the hourglass pendant from where it had gotten tangled under his shirt. The hourglass was cracked in several places and the edges were broken. “It’s broken,” he reluctantly reported.

With a scowl, Fred stopped and waited for his brother. “Brilliant. You coming?”

George walked quietly at his brother’s side. “I’m sorry, Fred,” he said.

Fred softened. “I know. I just don’t know how we’re going to figure out where we are. Seems like there’s no one around anywhere.”

“I just wanted to give us an adventure. Like we used to have. Before.”

They were passing the ruined hut, which had clearly been abandoned for some time. There weren’t even animals or birds around. Fred shivered, thoroughly creeped out by the crumbling walls. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered.

“No arguments here.”

The road snaked into a copse of trees. On the other side, with the hut out of sight behind them, the twins saw an odd contraption lying on its side up ahead. As they got closer, they saw that it was the burned-out husk of a funny-looking car with no roof. Small craters pocked the ground around it.

“I don’t like this,” George said.

“Just what I was thinking,” Fred agreed. “Let’s keep going. Quickly.”

Neither heard the whistle of the shell as they turned to leave. They only heard the explosion.

Fred rolled on the ground, coughing and trying to keep the dust out of his eyes. “What the Hell was that?” he asked as the smoke began to clear. “George?”

His brother didn’t answer. Fred sat up and wiped more grime from his face. “Georgie, you all right?”

George was still flat on the ground. He moaned a bit and grimaced. “Ow,” he murmured. The more he moved, the more he flinched. “Bollocks, ouch!” he yelped.

Fred felt chilled despite the baking heat radiating from the dust. “What’s wrong?”

Finally George rolled toward him, and one side of his shirt was soaked in blood. He looked at Fred through glazed eyes. “Ouch,” he said once more, in a whimper.

Scrambling across the rocky ground, Fred hoisted his brother into a sitting position. He peeled George’s shirt up and swallowed a gag when he saw a jagged gash spurting blood. “It’s not that bad,” he said weakly.

George chuckled. “You’re a terrible liar, Freddie.”

Fred ignored him. “Come on,” he said, pulling the shirt back over the wound and sliding an arm around George’s back. “We need to find some help.”

Not wanting to go back the way they had come, Fred pointed George in the opposite direction and started walking. “Just got to find someone who can give us a proper hand, don’t we?” he said. “A healer. I would try to fix your side myself, but I can only imagine what awful side effects that could have.”

George snickered weakly. “No thanks. All I can think of is that time Harry had to regrow all his arm bones.”

Fred squeezed George’s hand. “Thanks a lot, brother. I should hope I’m better at everything than Gilderoy bloody Lockhart.”

“Course,” George mumbled.

George held his own as long as he could, but it wasn’t long before he stumbled more than he walked and Fred had to support most of his weight. “You still with me, Georgie?”

“Always,” George murmured. After only a couple more steps, he stopped in the middle of the road, sinking to the ground and pulling Fred with him. His eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled up as he passed out.

“George? George!” Fred grabbed George’s shoulders and shook him. “Wake up, damn you!” The adrenaline draind away and he slumped down next to George’s body. Clinging to his unconscious twin, Fred didn’t notice as a convoy of vehicles approached from the north.


	3. In Which MASH 4077 Treats the Wounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An ellipses (...) indicates a shift in POV - not many chapters do this, but this is one of the few.
> 
> Friendly reminder that this is minorly AU-ish in that Percy died in DH instead than Fred.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from either Harry Potter or MASH.

**3.**  
  
The heavy Korean afternoon heat had the company of 4077th mobile army surgical hospital dozing or cloaked in the shade of their tents. A tinny voice echoed down from the loudspeakers mounted across the camp. “Attention all personnel! Incoming wounded – ambulances in the compound! Choppers on the upper pad! All surgical personnel to triage on the double!”  
  
Rousing themselves from stupor of heat stroke, the hospital staff emerged blinking into the sunlight and dust of the road. The four surgeons split up - Hawkeye Pierce and Henry Blake to the ambulances, Trapper John McIntyre to the helicopter pad, and Frank Burns to run triage.  
  
Hawkeye stepped to the first cot on the ambulance, stepping around company clerk Radar O’Reilly on his way up the steps. The boy on the stretcher was unconscious, his head turned away. The first thing Hawkeye noticed was the boy’s mangled and long scarred-over missing left ear. The second thing he saw was the open wound on the boy’s side; it wasn’t life-threatening, but it had bled quite a lot. “This one can wait, but set up a blood transfusion,” Hawkeye called.  
  
Checking around the boy’s neck, he found nothing. “Who is this kid? Where’re his dog tags?”  
  
“He didn’t have any, Hawkeye,” Radar appeared next to him, keeping track of the wounded on a clipboard. “Came in from the aid station.”  
  
Hawkeye frowned. “A civilian ended up at an aid station?”  
  
Radar shrugged. “Looks that way, sir.”  
  
“All right, well, see if you can find out who he is.” Hawkeye looked at the boy’s ashy skin. “And more importantly, his blood type. He needs whole blood, stat.”  
  
“He can have mine,” said a voice behind them.  
  
Hawkeye and Radar turned to see another redhead, identical to the boy on the stretcher before them. The boy looked at his brother, and then down at his own arms. “How do you do it?” he asked, sticking both arms out toward the doctor.  
  
After a momentary double-take, Hawkeye nodded and headed toward pre-op. “Come on.” He called back over his shoulder, “Corpsman! Get this boy to pre-op and prepped for a transfusion.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
The boy followed Hawkeye into the pre-op ward, and sat down when directed. Frank saw them and sneered, “What’s that civilian doing in here, Pierce?”  
  
“Donating blood to a patient.” The corpsmen with the boy’s stretcher entered at that moment, and Hawkeye directed them to an open table.  
  
Frank bent over the boy and searched around his neck. “Pierce, this boy has no dog tags.”  
  
Hawkeye rolled his eyes. “Very observant, Frank.”  
  
“We can’t give him a blood transfusion if we don’t know his blood type!” Frank said slowly, like he was talking to a five-year-old.  
  
“I’m his brother,” the second boy said.  
  
Frank put his hands on his hips. “There is no guarantee that siblings share the same blood type, kid!” he snapped. “So I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself!”  
  
Hawkeye saw the boy’s face redden in anger, and stepped in hastily. “Frank, they’re identical twins,” he said, exasperated. “Of course they have the same blood type.”  
  
Frank screwed up his face, fuming, but didn’t argue. “Nurse, take a pint of blood from this civilian for this patient,” he barked. Nurse Baker hurried over to the boy sitting beside his twin with the necessary instruments.  
  
Hawkeye caught the boy’s eye and nodded slightly, then left to finish with the boys in the ambulance.  
  
…  
  
Fred winced when the muggle healer slid the needle into his arm, but found it oddly fascinating to watch his blood flow through the tube out of his own body and into his brother’s. George hadn’t woken up since he had fallen in the dusty road.  
  
Healers in long white coats and green trousers were rushing back and forth across the room, barking orders and prodding other patients with formidable metal instruments. One by one, other injured men were brought in and taken out, but Fred and George were left alone in their corner, only noticed when another female healer came to take the needle away.  
  
Fred waited as long as he could before flagging down the next person who came anywhere close. “We’ve been here forever,” he said. “How much longer does my brother have to wait?”  
  
“As soon as there’s an operating table open and there’s no one ahead of him.”  
  
It wasn’t said unkindly, but Fred bristled and was about to argue, but the man was gone already. It felt like ages before two white-robed men picked up the slat that George had been lying on and carried him away.  
  
Fred scrambled after them, but he was stopped at a set of swinging doors. “Sorry kid,” one of the men said. “No unauthorized personnel in OR.”  
  
Through the window, Fred could see the black-haired healer who had gotten him set up with the blood. George was carried in and set on his table. The healer picked up a tiny but sharp-looking knife and moved toward the exposed skin on George’s side.  
  
Fred turned away from the door. He couldn’t bear to watch them cut into his twin – it was like they were doing it to him. Stumbling away from the operating room, he fled for the door. Never had he seen a single human bleed that much from a wound. There were bloody rags all over the floor of the operating room; it seemed like everywhere he looked, there were bleeding people. How could muggles make weapons that did such destructive things to each other?  
  
He’d seen his friends die in the battles against Voldemort. He’d been right next to Percy when he’d been killed, and almost died himself. But everything about this camp in this muggle warzone was different.  
  
Even outside, Fred couldn’t shake the feeling of blood rising up around him, suffocating him. He made it around the corner of the building and bent over to throw up violently.  
  
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, kid, just relax,” someone said. Fred finished throwing up his dinner, wiped his mouth, and turned to the man behind him, who asked, “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah, thanks.” Fred, still feeling dizzy, blinked when he saw who had helped him. “What are you wearing?” he asked.  
  
The man, who was clad in a deep blue evening gown, white gloves, heels, and a combat helmet, stared back at Fred. “You’re in surgery! I saw Captain Pierce operating on you.”  
  
Fred felt more bile rise in his throat at the thought of George being cut open but he forced it back down. “That’s my twin brother.” He eyed the man’s outfit again. “Aren’t those women’s robes?”  
  
The soldier snapped into a sharp military salute. “Corporal Max Klinger, at your service!” He leaned toward Fred, cupping his hand around his mouth conspiratorially. “I only wear dresses to make them think I’m crazy so they’ll let me outta this hell hole.”  
  
“Oh.” Fred leaned on Klinger as they walked through camp. He was still dizzy and queasy. “Where are we?”  
  
“The 4077th. Best MASH in all of Korea!”  
  
“Um…huh?”  
  
Klinger frowned and cocked his head. “Korea. Uijeongbu. The war, you know?”  
  
“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Fred swallowed, wincing at the acid rasping in his dry throat. “Can you tell me what the date is? I haven’t seen a calendar in ages.”  
  
“July 20, 1951.” Klinger looked at Fred intently. “Are you sure you’re okay?”  
  
Fred nodded weakly. “When can I see my brother?”  
  
“They’ll bring him to Post-Op as soon as the doctor is done with him. I can take you there to wait if you want,” Klinger said. When they reached the Post-Op ward, Klinger let Fred lie down on an empty cot and went to explain his presence to the white-garbed woman circling the beds.  
  
As he laid back on the scratchy blanket, Fred closed his eyes and ground his teeth. _1951,_ he thought. _Well, bollocks._


	4. In Which Hawkeye and Trapper Get Suspicious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are times where I wish I wasn't so in love with secondary characters. It's not just HP - my favorite character in LOTR is Legolas (not secondary, but not main either), my favorite in Twilight (don't judge) is Carlisle, my favorite in Buffy is Oz (*sniff*). It makes me cling to any moment with those characters where they really get to shine. And also, consequently, they show up more in my fiction than the main characters. Long live Fred and George.
> 
> Reminder that this is minorly AU-ish in that Percy died in DH instead than Fred.
> 
> "..." equals POV change
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from either Harry Potter or MASH.

**4.**  
  
George kept trying to wake up, but the lights seared his eyes every time he tried. “Shut the blinds,” he mumbled. “Too bright.”  
  
“George!”  
  
He managed to open his eyes completely to see Fred lying on the bed next to his. They were in a hospital wing of some kind, with the same scratchy blankets and sheets that Madame Pomfrey used to use at Hogwarts. “Hey, Freddie,” George said sleepily. Whatever the healers had given him to keep him asleep certainly was potent.  
  
Fred swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached to clap George’s shoulder. “How do you feel?”  
  
George tried to stretch and immediately regretted it. “Like Dad’s old Ford Anglia ran me over. Where am I?”  
  
“Post-Op ward.” Fred glared at his twin. “In a quaint little village called Uijeongbu, South Korea.”  
  
George cringed. “South Korea, huh?”  
  
“Oh, that’s not even the best part, brother dear,” Fred said. “We arrived here yesterday, but you’ve been asleep since then. And today, it is July 21, 1951.”  
  
“1951?” George groaned. “Well, at least when we fix the Time Turner, we know how far we need to go.”  
  
“If we fix the thing,” Fred said. Then he frowned. “Does it hurt that bad?”  
  
George smirked half-heartedly. “These Muggles really know how to build a weapon.”  
  
Fred laughed. “Dad would be so proud.”  
  
Craning his neck, George tried to see what was plastered to his side. “Speaking of Muggles, what’d they do to me?”  
  
Before Fred could answer, the dark-haired healer came over to his bedside and took the report hanging on a board at the end of George’s bed. “Good afternoon,” he said cheerily. “How do you feel?”  
  
George looked at Fred warily, who gave him a nod and a raised eyebrow. “Peachy,” George replied.  
  
“I’m Dr. Pierce,” the healer went on. “I stitched up that gash in your side, and your brother here donated a pint of his blood since yours had leaked out all over the road somewhere.”  
  
George frowned and looked at Fred. “You gave me your blood?”  
  
Fred shrugged. “You needed it. And it’s more or less the same, yeah?”  
  
“It’s exactly the same,” Dr. Pierce said. “The miracle and medical mystery of identical twins!”  
  
With raised eyebrows, George looked back at the doctor. “Yeah. Right. How bad was I hurt?”  
  
Dr. Pierce glanced at the paper on the board in his hand. “Nothing that some thread and violin strings couldn’t fix!” He smiled. “You’ll be fine. It’ll take a few days of rest for that wound to start healing, but no lasting damage.”  
  
Fred grabbed George’s hand and squeezed it. “Just like I told you, Georgie. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.” He smirked. “Too bad he couldn’t fix that ear of yours.”  
  
George scoffed. “There’s no way I’d give up Mum finally being able to always tell us apart.”  
  
“I noticed your ear,” Dr. Pierce said. The twins flinched – George had forgotten he was even there. “That looks like a serious injury.”  
  
Fred and George shared a look. “It was,” George said simply.  
  
Dr. Pierce looked at them. “How old are you boys?”  
  
“21.”  
  
Pierce nodded thoughtfully. “21,” he repeated. He was quiet for a few minutes, then the cheer returned to his face. “Get some rest – I’ll come to check on you in a little bit.”  
  
“Thank you, doctor.”  
  
Fred turned to George as soon as Dr. Pierce had disappeared through the door at the end of the room. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the ear.”  
  
“He noticed anyway,” George said. “It’s kind of a big thing for a healer not to notice.”  
  
“I don’t notice it anymore.”  
  
George smirked ruefully. “You don’t have to feel it every time you shower.” He yawned and leaned back on his pillows. “Whatever potion they gave me is pretty damn good,” he said sleepily. “We should get the recipe.”  
  
“Dozing drops,” Fred said with a grin. “You sleep, George. I’ll see what I can do.”  
  
…  
  
“Radar!” Hawkeye called as he walked into the company clerk’s office.  
  
“Right here, sir.”  
  
Hawkeye jumped and turned around to see Radar behind him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that! Or I’ll put a collar on you with a little bell attached.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Hawkeye sighed, rubbing his temple. “Any word on that kid?”  
  
“Uh, no sir. I called Regimental Headquarters, Seoul, Tokyo. No units have reported anyone missing fitting his description, and no civilians have been reported either.”  
  
“Well he’s gotta be someone! People don’t just appear!” Hawkeye frowned. “People disappear in a war, not the other way around.”  
  
Radar nodded. “Do you know anything about him?”  
  
“They’re identical twins and they’re British. That’s not much to go on.” Hawkeye got an idea. “But Radar, why don’t you – ”  
  
“Yes sir, I’ll call the UN right away sir.” Radar was already on the phone.  
  
Hawkeye stayed in Radar’s office, staring blankly at the door to Post-Op. Something about the twins was nagging at him. Something was just enough off to get under his skin, like a popcorn husk stuck in his teeth just too far back to reach.  
  
Radar turned back to him. “Was there something else you needed, sir?”  
  
"What?” Hawkeye looked back at the clerk. “No, Radar, that’s it. Let me know if you find out anything.”  
  
The heat smacked him in the face the moment he left Radar’s office. The tent he reluctantly called home and/or the Swamp was only a few paces away, but every step felt like a mile through the humidity. Once he made it to the Swamp’s screen walls, he collapsed gratefully onto his cot. Trapper was asleep in the next cot, snoring.  
  
His eyes closed, Hawkeye was just about asleep when he heard the screen door of the tent bang open. “Captain McIntyre, sir!”  
  
Hawkeye grabbed a boot and checked it irritably at the intruder. Klinger stepped aside just in time and the boot landed harmlessly on Frank’s bed. Trapper muttered curses under his breath. “Captain McIntyre, sir, Colonel Blake needs your opinion in Post-Op.”  
  
“You have five seconds to get out of here, Klinger,” Trapper growled.  
  
“Or we’re run your bra up the flagpole!” Hawkeye threatened.  
  
“Like I’d let you near my bra!” Klinger replied with an indignant sniff before ducking out of the Swamp.  
  
With a groan, Trapper sat up. “Wonder what Henry can’t handle without me,” he grumbled.  
  
“Hey Trap, do me a favor,” Hawkeye mumbled. “That red-headed kid I operated on this morning.”  
  
“Infection?”  
  
“No, just watch him. He and his brother just don’t seem right.”  
  
“Battle fatigue?”  
  
“In a civilian?” Hawkeye asked.  
  
Frank, who had walked in to hear the end of their conversation, snorted. “He’s faking! He must be a deserter. Him and his brother.” He smiled a bit to himself. “Major Houlihan and I have taken it upon ourselves to contact all British units in the area and let them know we’ve found him.”  
  
Trapper rolled his eyes. “Frank, would you at least let the kid get better first? He was in pretty rough shape when they brought him in. He needs rest.”  
  
“I don’t need you to tell me what a patient needs to recover, McIntyre!” Frank snapped.  
  
“Frank, even the patient knows more than you!” Hawkeye retorted, his hand thrown over his eyes.  
  
Frank sputtered angrily for a minute, then gave up and glared at Hawkeye. “You…guys!”  
  
Trapper followed in Frank’s wake, pausing at the door. “Don’t worry about your boy, Hawk. I’ll see what I can find out.”  
  
“Uh-huh, thanks,” Hawkeye mumbled. Then Trapper was gone and Hawkeye gratefully fell asleep.


	5. In Which Fred and George Realize How Screwed They Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that this is minorly AU-ish in that Percy died in DH instead than Fred.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from either Harry Potter or MASH.

here were four healers that seemed to rotate through the ward where George was recovering, and one of them was an absolute arse. Dr. Burns was whiny, pointy-faced, and more tight-assed than Oliver Wood on game day.  
  
Fred had slept that night in the bed next to George’s. But first thing in the morning, Dr. Burns had stopped at the end of the bed with his hands on his hips. “On your feet, soldier!”  
  
Fred had blinked the sleep out of his eyes and frowned up at him. “Huh?”  
  
“I said, on your feet!”  
  
Waving a hand at Dr. Burns, Fred turned his face back to the pillow. “No,” he mumbled.  
  
The next thing he knew, the blanket was being pulled away from his shoulders. “Hey!” he yelped.  
  
“When I give you an order, I expect it to be followed!” Burns sputtered.  
  
Fred sat up and yawned. “I don’t know what you’re on about, mate. I’m not a soldier. I’m a civilian – you said so yourself yesterday.”  
  
Burns crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t believe you. You and your brother are obviously AWOL.”  
  
This healer was cracked. “I’ve been called many things, but never a wall,” Fred said cheekily. “That’s a new one.”  
  
In the next bed, George stirred and grimaced. “What’s going on, Freddie?” he asked.  
  
“Nothing, mate. Go back to sleep.”  
  
Burns seemed to falter a little when he noticed that he had woken up a patient. He turned his glare back on Fred. “Well you can’t stay in here anymore,” he finally said.  
  
Fred was about to protest that too, when the young nurse who had changed George’s bandage the night before interrupted. “I told him he could, Major,” she said. “Colonel Blake gave his okay last night when he was on duty.”  
  
Burns glowered at her. “Lieutenant Carson, I will thank you not to contradict me in front of the patients.” He threw Fred another nasty look, then stalked down to the end of the ward.  
  
“Sorry about that,” Fred said.  
  
Nurse Carson gave him a shy smile. “It’s not your fault. It’s still early – you should get some rest.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Fred turned his other cheek to the pillow, but heard his brother’s urgent whisper moments later. “Fred!”  
  
He rolled over to see George fully awake and looking panicked. “You okay?” he asked.  
  
“My wand is gone!” George hissed. “All my clothes, everything I had yesterday, it’s gone and that includes my wand!”  
  
Fred swung his legs over the bedside and stretched. “Calm down, dear brother.” He pulled back the edge of his sleeve just enough to show both his and George’s wands hidden inside. “As soon as I realized that they were stripping people before taking them to the healers, I nicked it so that it wouldn’t get lost.”  
  
George relaxed back on his pillow. “Good thinking, mate.” He glanced around to make sure no one was near. “And the time turner?” he asked.  
  
Lifting the gold chain just barely from under his shirt collar, Fred nodded. “Safe and sound.”  
  
Dr. Pierce showed up at the end of George’s bed just then, taking hold of the clipboard hanging on the frame. Fred shoved the chain back in place under his shirt. “Good morning, Dr. Pierce,” he said.  
  
“Good morning, boys.” The healer sat on the edge of the bed on George’s other side. “How’s the side today?” he asked as he lifted the edge of the bandage and peaked underneath.  
  
“Fine, Doctor,” George said. “Hurts like a bloody beast, though.”  
  
“Well, that’s to be expected,” said the second healer – Dr. McIntyre – who had joined Pierce on the bed. “Wounds like that don’t heal overnight, you know.”  
  
Fred bit his tongue, wishing very much that George was under Madame Pomfrey’s care, who could in fact heal wounds like that overnight. “How long will it take?” he asked.  
  
The healers glanced at each other. “A little while,” Dr. Pierce said. “Which means we don’t have to be so formal, if you’re going to be staying with us. You can call me Hawkeye. And this is my trusty sidekick, Trapper John.”  
  
“Hello,” the twins said together.  
  
Hawkeye paused before continuing. “We do need some information from you two, though. We’ve been calling everyone we can think of: I-Corps, the UN, British units in the area. No one knows anything about you.”  
  
Fred and George gulped just slightly. “Really?” George asked.  
  
“Yeah. We just need to know the basics. Where you come from, what you’re doing here…”  
  
"Your names,” Trapper broke in.  
  
"I’m George.”  
  
“I’m Fred.”  
  
“You can call us Fred and George.”  
  
“Or George and Fred.”  
  
“Or Gred and Forge – we’re not picky.”  
  
Hawkeye chuckled. “Well then, Fred and George, welcome to the 4077th. Can you tell us how you ended up so close to the front?”  
  
He had known that they would be asked questions like that, but Fred had no good answer. “We’re in South Korea, uh, for business,” he finally said.  
  
“Oh yeah? What’s your business?” Trapper asked.  
  
“Surveillors,” George said. “We’re here to surveil things.”  
  
Fred closed his eyes for a minute, sure that the healers were going to lock them up any second.  
  
“Have you been in combat before?” Trapper asked. “That ear certainly looks like it was a war wound.”  
  
“Oh yeah,” George said. “We fought in the war.”  
  
Hawkeye and Trapper looked at each other, brows furrowed. “The war?” Hawkeye asked. “As in, the big war?”  
  
Fred’s stomach sank when he realized what Hawkeye meant, and he saw in George’s face that he realized it, too. “No,” Fred said. “Not _that_ war. Just a smaller war.”  
  
It was a poor lie and he knew it. And the healers knew it too.  
  
“What’s your date of birth again?” Hawkeye asked, a pencil hovering over the chart in his hand.  
  
“April 1, 19…” George paused for a moment, frantically subtracting. “1930.”  
  
Hawkeye made the note and nodded. He looked at Trapper again, raising an eyebrow. “I think you’ll be just fine,” Hawkeye said to George. “I’ll check on your side again in a little bit. He stood, then he and Trapper headed for the desk at the end of the ward.  
  
Fred and George watched him leave, then turned back to each other. “They think I got my ear blown off in World War Two,” George said. “Except we aren’t old enough. And now they’re going to wonder.”  
  
“Damn,” Fred said.  
  
“I don’t know about you,” George said, “But I say we get ourselves right the bloody hell out of Korea and back home. As fast as possible.”


	6. In Which Fred and George Meet the Still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note here. I know that Hawkeye and Trapper are both extremely dedicated, competent doctors, and they would probably not let one of their patients drink with them. BUT, that being said, there are often patients at the parties they throw on the show ("Private Charles Lamb" springs to mind, with the kid who shot himself being at the Greek New Year party). Plus, George's wound is actually superficial and just required stitches, even if he lost a lot of blood. And I needed the twins drunk to get them to show off the way they do.
> 
> Reminder that this is minorly AU-ish in that Percy died in DH instead than Fred.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from either Harry Potter or MASH.

**6.**  
  
Hawkeye watched the twins whispering together in their adjoining beds. “What do you think, Trap?” he asked.  
  
Trapper frowned thoughtfully. “Well there’s something they aren’t telling us.”  
  
“Yeah, but what?” Hawkeye leaned back in the chair, surveying the boys. “They don’t strike me as the communist spy type.”  
  
“They’re just kids,” Trapper said. “Barely out of high school. Which begs the question of what the hell are British schoolboys doing in the middle of a war, without being in the army?”  
  
“No idea.”  
  
Trapper shrugged. “They’ll be out of here in a couple days, anyway, on their way to the 121st.”  
  
Hawkeye raised his eyebrows. “You want to let them go without figuring out what’s going on?”  
  
Trapper didn’t seem as interested as Hawkeye expected. He was protective of all of his patients, but he was oddly curious about the twins. Frank’s angry voice wafted into Post-Op from Radar’s office. Hawkeye and Trapper cast dark looks at the door. “We can’t let Frank send them out of here before we get them to talk,” Hawkeye said.  
  
“What do you suggest?”  
  
Hawkeye watched the twins thoughtfully. He was surprised when they looked back at him, and beckoned him to come over. He and Trapper shared a look, then crossed to the boys’ beds.  
  
The uninjured one, Fred, spoke up. “We were thinking,” he said, “can you give us a tour of the camp?”  
  
“A tour?” Hawkeye repeated.  
  
“Yeah. We’d love to see how you get on here,” George added.  
  
Something about the way he said it seemed strange, but everything about the boys seemed strange, so Hawkeye filed it away for later. “Sure. But not for another few days.” He glanced at the fresh bandage on George’s side. “I want to be sure that there’s no infection before you’re up and wandering around our home sweet cesspool.”  
  
The twins looked at each other, frowning, and Hawkeye had the unsettling thought that they were in some kind of silent communication. Finally, Fred shrugged. “If that’s what the healer orders.”  
  
“Uh, yeah,” Hawkeye said. “That is what the healer orders.”  
  
That gave Hawkeye only a few days to figure out how to get the twins to let him and Trapper in on whatever secret they were keeping.  
  
…  
  
The healer who insisted that they call him Hawkeye didn’t give George clearance to be up and walking around for three more days. Finally, he and the other one – Trapper – led the twins into a green tent just past the Post-Op ward. The walls were mesh, and the frame made of rickety-looking wood. Altogether, it seemed a completely inadequate structure for one to live in.  
  
Fred and George sat down uneasily next to each other on one of the flimsy camp beds. Cots, the nurses called them. The twins glanced at each other, their opinion spectacularly low of Muggle camping.  
  
“Welcome to the Swamp,” Trapper said, standing in front of a table full of tubes and beakers.  
  
“Thanks,” Fred said. “You live here all the time?”  
  
“Only until the army says we can go home for supper,” Hawkeye said, reclining on what appeared to be his own cot.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Hawkeye and Trapper said nothing else, apparently waiting for the twins to lead the conversation. The awkward silence was broken when Fred muttered, “I could use a firewhiskey.”  
  
Hawkeye lifted an eyebrow. “Firewhiskey? You two like to drink?”  
  
“Some,” Fred answered. “Why?”  
  
“Well, we like to drink,” Trapper replied. “It isn’t whiskey, but it gets the job done.” He picked up two triangular goblets from the table in front of him. “Want one?”  
  
George glanced down at the bandage on his side, underneath of which was starting to itch like crazy. “Is it okay, you know, with whatever potions you’ve been giving me?”  
  
Hawkeye and Trapper frowned at each other for a moment. “I don’t think one drink should hurt,” Hawkeye finally said.  
  
George shrugged. “Then why not?” Trapper filled the glasses and handed one to each of the twins.  
  
The first sip made George’s eyes water and his esophagus catch fire. “Wow,” he croaked. “Little bit stronger than firewhiskey.”  
  
Fred nodded his teary-eyed agreement. “What is this?”  
  
Hawkeye raised his own glass in the air. “This is mother’s milk!” he waxed. “The elixir of life! Our heart’s blood!”  
  
Fred paled and turned slightly green. “Please don’t say blood.”  
  
Trapper and Hawkeye just shrugged. “It’s called a martini,” Trapper said. He was busy pouring another for himself. “Bottoms up!” The four men lifted their glasses in the air and drained them.  
  
It took far less of this martini concoction to get Fred and George drunk than it did with firewhiskey. It wasn’t long before everything they said or saw seemed extremely funny.  
  
“These Muggles really know how to make a drink!” George exclaimed between giggles.  
  
“Muggles?” Hawkeye asked, just sober enough to be confused.  
  
“Uh oh…George is in trouble!” Fred sang.  
  
“No I’m–not,” he managed to say.  
  
“We don’t know what Muggles are, if it helps,” Trapper offered.  
  
“You are!” Fred replied with a hoot.  
  
“We are not!” Hawkeye stated, in fake offense.  
  
“Really?” the twins said together, hopefully.  
  
“Uh…no.”  
  
“Oh.” Identical faces fell.  
  
Fred looked at his brother. “You couldn’t get us somewhere with a proper magic community, could you?” George just stuck his tongue out. “Oh yes, smashingly mature,” Fred said.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Hawkeye said. “Magic community?”  
  
“Oops,” Fred said, snickering. Then he said, “We wouldn’t even be here if George knew what he was doing.”  
  
George laughed. “Freddie, you talk too much!”  
  
Fred shrugged. “It’s not like Dad’s here to tell us off.” Then he burst into giggles. “Remember that lashing he gave us when we gave that wanker cousin of Harry’s the Ton-Tongue Toffee?”  
  
Dissolving into laugher, George fell back onto the cot. “Our first and greatest achievement!”  
  
Both twins had stopped paying attention to Hawkeye and Trapper, who were silently watching them bicker. “Maybe no more martinis,” they heard Trapper whisper.  
  
George sat up, his eyes bright. “Bet you wouldn’t say that if you knew what we could do!”  
  
Fred poked George sharply in his uninjured side. “Shut it!”  
  
“This will be fun!” With that, George grabbed for Fred’s sleeve, where he knew his wand was hidden.  
  
Fred jumped to his feet, skipping just out of George’s reach. “Bad idea, brother!”  
  
But George wouldn’t let up, and even with the martinis coursing through his bloodstream, Fred cared more about George not getting hurt any further than about any statutes of secrecy. After a small awkward dance around the tent’s other empty cot, George managed to pull his wand out of Fred’s sleeve. He turned and pointed it directly at Hawkeye.  
  
Hawkeye frowned. “What – ”  
  
” _Wingardium leviosa!_ ”  
  
Hawkeye’s eyes grew rounder and rounder as the goblet suddenly left his hand and floated up toward the ceiling of the tent. “What the hell?” he said.  
  
Fred collapsed onto the cot, giggling uncontrollably. “The look on your face, mate!” he cried. George followed and it was only another moment before the two had passed out.


	7. In Which the Twins Give an Uncomfortable Explanation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Ohhhh poor Fred and George. How will they get out of this one?
> 
> Reminder that this is minorly AU-ish in that Percy died in DH instead than Fred.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from either Harry Potter or MASH.

**7.**  
  
George woke with a headache that went beyond pounding. He barely remembered the night before and opening his eyes seemed like the worst idea in the world.  
  
“Ugh, George, ge-off me!” Fred muttered. His voice was muffled by the cot he was lying facedown on.  
  
George opened his eyes as much as he dared and realized that he was sprawled ungracefully on top of his twin. He managed to sit up and held his head in agony. Fred groaned next to him, unable to move.  
  
“Good morning!” Hawkeye called in a soft singsong voice from the other side of the tent. The twins moaned their reply. “We thought as much. Here.” He handed the boys two glasses of water and four white pills.  
  
“Whasis?” George asked as he swallowed two pills and Fred swallowed the others.  
  
“Just a little Muggle medicine,” Trapper replied, not looking up from his magazine.  
  
The twins looked at each other. “How d’you know that word?” Fred asked blearily.  
  
“We don’t,” Hawkeye answered. “But you called us that last night, so we figure that you do.”  
  
George groaned and closed his eyes again. Maybe if he burrowed himself deep enough into the cot, he could forget the last night had happened.  
  
“Take 20 minutes for that aspirin to kick in,” Trapper said. “Then we need to have a talk.”  
  
Fred sank down onto the cot next to George, curling up around his twin the way they had once curled together in the womb. And how they had slept in an untidy pile of limbs as toddlers in one trundle bed. And how they had taken to sharing the four-poster beds at Hogwarts when things were going particularly spectacularly wrong.  
  
To their great surprise, the Muggle medicine worked. After half an hour, George felt like he could open his eyes without wanting his head to pop off. He detached himself from his brother and sat on the edge of the cot in silent contrition. Fred swung himself upright and glared, clearly prompting George to take the lead.  
  
Across the tent, Hawkeye and Trapper were waiting expectantly. Above their heads, the martini glass bobbed gently against the peak of the tent.  
  
“So…” George started. “We aren’t from around here.”  
  
Hawkeye and Trapper shared a look. “Uh-huh,” Hawkeye said. “We figured that out, actually.”  
  
Miserable, George glanced pleadingly at his brother, begging Fred to take over. Fred was much better at this sort of thing – he was always the one who talked them out of sticky situations. Fred just pressed his lips together and shook his head.  
  
“Look, boys,” Hawkeye finally said. “We know there’s something you aren’t telling us. There’s no record of you anywhere – not from the UN, not from the army, not from the British armed forces, not even from the Red Cross. We want to help you, but you’ve got to give us something.”  
  
“We’ll give you something,” George muttered, reaching for the sleeve where his wand was stashed.  
  
Fred grabbed his hand. “Enough,” he hissed. “Didn’t you do enough last night?”  
  
“Well I’m sorry that I was trying to have a day off from being deathly injured!”  
  
“Boys, boys, boys,” Trapper broke in. “No apologies.”  
  
“Just answers,” Hawkeye added.  
  
Fred glared at George before sighing in frustration and saying, “Sod it all. We’re wizards.”  
  
Hawkeye laughed. “That’s funny, but try again.”  
  
“You don’t believe me?” Fred asked.  
  
Hawkeye and Trapper shared a look and shook their heads. “Not as much, no,” Hawkeye said.  
  
Fred pulled his wand from his sleeve and pointed it at the martini glass still hovering against the tent’s ceiling. “ _Finite incantatem_ ,” he said. The glass dropped like a stone and shattered on the floor. He looked back at the doctors. “Now?”  
  
“How’d you do that?” Trapper asked, glancing between the ceiling and the glass shards on the ground.  
  
“Magic,” George said, with the tone of speaking to someone profoundly stupid. “That’s what wizards do.”  
  
Hawkeye waved a hand. “No, no, no, there’s some trick going on here.”  
  
George rolled his eyes, and picked up his own wand from where it lay on the floor beside the cot. Pointing it at the glass shards, he said, “ _Reparo_.” The martini glass threw itself back into one piece, which George picked up and handed to Hawkeye. Hawkeye stared at it as though he had no idea what it was.  
  
For a long moment, no one said anything. George wasn’t sure what he had expected, but apparently it hadn’t been skepticism. Angrily, he shoved his wand into his shirt sleeve and said, “Believe us or don’t. Come on, Fred.”  
  
Fred stood up and followed him, but both stopped short when Frank suddenly burst into the Swamp. “Oh! So you four finally decided to rejoin the living?” he taunted.  
  
“Shut up Frank!” Trapper snapped.  
  
“You can’t fool me, McIntyre!” Frank said. “You’ve been drinking!” He narrowed his eyes at Fred and George. “And what is a patient doing in here anyway?” He asked, indicating George in disgust.  
  
“Nothing,” George said quickly. “We’re leaving.” He felt waves of dizziness hit him as he tried to weave around Frank, but he stood standing until they made it out into the compound.  
  
Fred wrapped his arm around George’s waist and helped him the rest of the way back to their side-by-side beds in Post-Op. George buried his face in the starchy pillow case. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“This is a right snafu that I’ve got us in.”  
  
Fred clapped his twin on the shoulder. “It is,” he agreed.  
  
George rolled over and grimaced. “Lesson learned,” he said.  
  
“This is why people like us aren’t allowed to have Time Turners.”  
  
“That’s the wisest thing you’ve ever said, Freddie.” George settled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Do you think they believed us?”  
  
Fred shrugged. “Who knows. But they can’t help us get home. We’ll have to find someone else.”


	8. In Which Frank Burns Makes an Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that this is minorly AU-ish in that Percy died in DH instead than Fred. Also sorry that this chapter is kind of filler!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from either Harry Potter or MASH.

**8.**  
  
Hawkeye pushed open the door to Post-Op, Trapper on his heels. The twins were in their side by side beds, talking quietly to each other. Hawkeye nudged Trapper and pointed to the sleeve of Fred’s shirt, where the tip of the stick was just visible. The stick that had, that morning, brought a martini glass from shards to whole in seconds.  
  
Frank was at the desk at the other end of the ward. Hawkeye stopped at the end of George’s bed and said, “Feel like taking a walk?”  
  
Again the twins shared a long look, and again Hawkeye was disconcertingly afraid that they were communicating somehow. “Okay,” George finally said.  
  
Once they were away from the ward and Frank’s prying ears, Hawkeye settled himself on an old supply crate stacked outside the officer’s club. “So,” he said.  
  
“So?” Fred repeated.  
  
They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Finally Hawkeye said, “Let’s say we believe you.”  
  
Fred and George looked at each other and rolled their eyes. “How nice of you,” George said dryly.  
  
Trapper crossed his arms and glared at them. “Look, what you’re saying sounds crazy,” he said. “You tell anybody else and they’d have Sidney Freedman here to examine your heads.”  
  
Fred looked about ready to protest, but Hawkeye cut him off. “But, that show you gave us this morning has us convinced.”  
  
Visibly, the twins relaxed in relief. “Thank Merlin,” George said.  
  
Hawkeye brushed off that particular turn of phrase. “I don’t know about you, Trap, but I have a million questions,” he said.  
  
The twins glanced at each other nervously. George shook his head so slightly that Hawkeye was half-convinced he had imagined it. Then he turned back to them and said, “What do you want to know?”  
  
“Not here,” Hawkeye said, shaking his head. “Not now.”  
  
“We need somewhere where we won’t be overheard,” Trapper added.  
  
“Sirs?” As if on cue, Radar appeared behind Trapper’s shoulder. “Colonel Blake is looking for you, sirs. For the twins.”  
  
Hawkeye saw Fred and George share another of their looks, with Fred raising his eyebrows in something like curiosity. He still marveled at how identical they were – without George’s navy blue patient bathrobe and scarred ear, he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart at all.  
  
Radar was watching the twins in open fascination, his mouth hanging slightly open. George noticed, matching the boy’s gaze and nudging Fred to do the same. Trapper broke the moment, saying dryly, “You’re gonna catch flies with your mouth open like that, Radar.”  
  
Radar snapped out of whatever episode he was in and blushed. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled. “Colonel Blake is in his office.”  
  
Fred and George watched as Radar scurried off, but said nothing. Hawkeye sighed. “I guess our conversation is going to have to wait a while longer. Come on, boys.”  
  
Hawkeye led them back toward the Post-Op Ward, but around to the other end of the long building and in through Radar’s office. He pushed open the swinging door. “You called, fearless leader?”  
  
Henry was rummaging around in his liquor cabinet. “Yo!”  
  
Behind him, Hawkeye could hear one of the twins (there was no way he could tell their voices apart) mutter, “Yo?”  
  
“We brought our guests,” Trapper said as he perched on the edge of Henry’s desk.  
  
Hawkeye pushed Fred and George in front of him, where they sat down in the two available chairs opposite Henry’s desk.  
  
Henry turned around with a bottle in hand but shoved it behind his back when he saw the twins sitting and watching him. “Welcome, uh, men,” he said.  
  
Trapper snickered. “What’s up, Henry?” he asked.  
  
Henry settled himself at his desk, back ramrod straight. “I just thought I should welcome these two. We’ve never had British soldiers through the unit before.” He smiled at the twins. “Canadians, Australians, even an Irishman once, but no Brits. You’re our first!”  
  
He looked so proud that Hawkeye hated to burst his bubble. “They’re civilians, Henry,” he said.  
  
“Oh!” Henry relaxed and pulled the bottle back out onto the desktop. “Well, I hope very much that you’re enjoying your stay.” The twins glanced at each other, and George put a hand on his side. Henry noticed, and at least had the sense to blush. “I mean, uh, as much, you know, as you could with the wound and everything.”  
  
“Henry, do us all a favor and stop talking,” Trapper remarked.  
  
“Stuff it, McIntyre!” Henry snapped. He turned back to the twins. “What are you doing here in a warzone?”  
  
“The question of the hour,” Fred muttered, throwing a dark look at his brother.  
  
Hawkeye jumped in before the twins could make up an answer. “Let’s just say that they are extremely lost.” George threw Hawkeye a grateful look.  
  
Henry looked confused, but to be fair that wasn’t far off from his normal look. “Well have we done anything to figure out what unit they’re attached to? Even if they’re civilians, they can’t be in-country alone.” He glanced at the door behind Hawkeye’s shoulder and yelled, “Radar!”  
  
But Radar was already pushing the door open. “Yes sir,” he said, “I’ve already contacted the UN. Just waiting to hear back.”  
  
The twins looked at Hawkeye in panic. Hawkeye stammered, “Henry, uh, George’s injuries, they aren’t healed yet. We can’t send them anywhere.”  
  
“But his twin is fine,” Henry protesting, sounding more confounded than angry.  
  
“Where George goes, I go.” Fred’s tone left no room for discussion. Hawkeye noticed that he was gripping something beneath the front of his shirt.  
  
“Well, we’ve had some, uh, concerns,” Henry said uncomfortably.  
  
“Let me guess,” Trapper grumbled. “Majors Burns and/or Houlihan.”  
  
Henry didn’t confirm, but he didn’t need to. “The concern is about taking up a bed in Post-Op for a non-wounded entity.”  
  
Fred scoffed. “So I’m an entity, am I?”  
  
“Henry, come on,” Hawkeye said.  
  
“Pierce, for once it’s not a ridiculous request!” Henry said. “Hospital beds are for the sick or wounded. What would we do if we got another deluge?”  
  
Admittedly, Hawkeye couldn’t quite come up with an argument for that. George asked, “Where will you put him?” and Hawkeye noticed a tremor in his voice.  
  
“Well, we could put you up in the VIP tent,” Henry said. He grinned. “Only the finest!”  
  
Fred muttered something in his brother’s ear at that, and George laughed half-heartedly.  
  
“Hey, what about the Swamp?” Trapper suggested.  
  
Hawkeye grinned. “Perfect! Post-Op is right next door. Then he won’t be far from his brother, and Frank can have his bed back.”  
  
“Great!” Henry said happily. To the twins, he said, “Does that sound good?”  
  
Fred and George turned together, their heads moving at the same speed in a dizzying effect, to stare pointedly at Hawkeye and Trapper. After what felt like a long moment, they turned back to Henry and said, “Deal.”


	9. In Which George Has an Attack of Conscience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing parts of this chapter, especially the confrontation toward the end. George obviously has some issues that he hasn't quite resolved with Fred's almost death (since this is minorly AU-ish in that Percy died in DH instead than Fred) - plus you get a little Easter egg about our favorite company clerk :-)
> 
> Hawkeye and Trapper will learn more and more as the story goes, I promise.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from either Harry Potter or MASH.

**9.**  
  
By the next morning, Fred was being bullied out of Post-Op. Primarily by Major Burns. “Come on, Weasley, on your feet!” he sneered.  
  
Something in the way he said Weasley sounded to Fred too much like how that prat Malfoy used to call “weasel” across the Quidditch pitch, and he knew that he was done with the Major’s attitude. As he snatched up his bundle of extra clothes that he had nicked from the supply tent, he whispered to George, “Meet us in the Swamp in 10, yeah?”  
  
George nodded, and Fred reluctantly headed for the door. The Swamp was practically connected to the Post-Op Ward – there were only separated by a narrow gravel road – but Fred and George had never in their lives slept apart.  
  
Never at Hogwarts, never at the Burrow, never even when one or the other had a lady friend. George had asked their last night before Hogwarts what they would do if they ended up in different houses, to which Fred concocted an elaborate plan to sneak out of the castle each night after dinner and live in the Forbidden Forest with the thestrals.  
  
Hawkeye and Trapper were waiting for him as he pushed open the screen door. Hawkeye glanced back at the door as Fred dropped his bundle on the single empty bed. Though from what little he remembered from their night of drinking in the Swamp, “bed” was being generous.  
  
“Where’s your brother?” Hawkeye asked.  
  
“He’ll be here in a few minutes.” Fred glowered at Frank’s empty bunk. “We have plans to make.”  
  
Trapper shook his head. “We have questions first.”  
  
Fred groaned. He had forgotten that the doctors (surgeons, they called themselves) hadn’t gotten the chance to have _that_ conversation with them yet. He sat in awkward silence until finally, thankfully, George in his patient’s bathrobe appeared at the door. “Blimey, you’re a somber lot,” he said. “Who died?”  
  
Trapper stood up to make himself a drink. “Take a seat,” he said, indicated his cot.  
  
George sat on the edge of the cot, shooting Fred a curious look. Fred just shook his head and fidgeted with his wand in his lap.  
  
Trapper handed Hawkeye a martini, then took a seat in the folding chair beside him. “So we have questions,” he said.  
  
“And we’d like it if you had answers,” Hawkeye added.  
  
The twins shared another look. “We’ll do our best,” Fred said. “But you can’t expect we’ll answer everything.”  
  
Hawkeye nodded thoughtfully. “Start small, then. What’s a Muggle?”  
  
“Non-magic people,” George answered.  
  
“What makes someone magic or not?” Trapper asked. “Is it something anyone can learn?”  
  
The twins shook their heads. “You’re either born a wizard or you’re not,” Fred said. “We do learn, but the magic’s always there.”  
  
“Learn where?”  
  
“At school,” George said. “Of course.”  
  
“There are magic schools?” Hawkeye said, incredulously.  
  
“All over the world,” Fred replied. “Europe, Asia, Africa, and the Americas. It’s not like we can have wizarding children running around untrained, can we?”  
  
The surgeons looked alarmed. “You have powers as children?” Trapper asked.  
  
Fred started snickering. “Yeah, mate. George and I pulled some great ones on our brothers when we were little.”  
  
“Not on purpose, really,” George added. “Most little nippers don’t know what they’re doing, plus we don’t get our wands until we start school.”  
  
“You have brothers?” Hawkeye asked.  
  
George nodded. “Four." Then he stopped and amended sadly, "Three. Our brother Percy - he died."  
  
"And a baby sister too," Fred said. "But we would never dream of hexing her.”  
  
Hawkeye glanced over his shoulder towards the clerk’s office. “Can we get in contact with them? Maybe they can help you get back home from here.”  
  
Fred froze. Obviously none of their siblings were alive; he wasn’t even positive how old his parents were at the moment.  
  
Luckily George spoke up. “Have you got an owl around here?”  
  
Trapper and Hawkeye frowned. “An owl?” Trapper repeated. “Like the bird?”  
  
Fred nodded. “That’s how we send messages,” he said. “So unless you’ve got an owl stashed away, we’ve missed the boat, I’m afraid.” The surgeons looked so confused that Fred took pity on them. “Me and George come from a full-blood wizard family,” he said. “Which means we don’t live with Muggles or really see them much, ever. And none of those things you lot use, like telephones or mailmen. We have our own ways to communicate, and they’re a lot faster than anything you have.”  
  
Trapper looked offended. “Hey, I think that the telephone is damn fast enough.”  
  
Fred shrugged. Hawkeye said, “If you don’t have any contact with non-magic people, how do you – ”  
  
The clang of the camp’s loudspeaker cut him off. “Attention, all personnel! Incoming wounded! Both shifts to OR on the double!”  
  
Hawkeye and Trapper jumped to their feet and ran for the door. “Stay here,” Hawkeye commanded. “Both of you.”  
  
“We’ll be back when we can,” Trapper added.  
  
And then they were gone, lost in the flurry of orderlies, nurses, doctors, and assorted other camp staff that stampeded for the line of ambulances that was streaming into the compound. Fred and George were alone.  
  
Fred stood up and went to the door, watching the activity. “Bonkers, isn’t it?” he asked. “Doing all this without magic?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Turning toward Frank’s cot, Fred got down to business. “I think the good Major needs a dose of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” he said. “He can’t get off separating us like that with no consequences, can he?”  
  
No answer. Fred glanced back at George, who was still sitting on Trapper’s cot and looked brooding. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Reluctantly George looked at him. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Turning bewitched objects on Major Burns.”  
  
Fred gaped. “Why the hell not?”  
  
George stood up and paced back and forth. “I know we don’t pay a spectacular amount of attention when the rest of our family talks, but you do remember what our father does, don’t you?”  
  
Fred shrugged and grinned. “Maybe we’re the reason that office even exists.”  
  
“This isn’t funny.”  
  
Fred rolled his eyes. “Come on, George. What’s the harm in a little fun?”  
  
“Aren’t we in enough trouble as it is?” George hissed.  
  
Fred threw himself back onto the cot that was now supposed to be his. “And whose fault is that?”  
  
George drew back, looking hurt. “I think I’ve paid enough for that already.” Then he glared again. “I just don’t fancy ending up somewhere like Azkaban.”  
  
Fred rolled his eyes. “We won’t end up in Azkaban – we’re in Korea.”  
  
“Oh, brilliant, we’ll end up in an Asian wizard prison instead. Wonderful.”  
  
“More likely, we’ll end up in St. Mungo’s psycho ward next to Lockhart.”  
  
At that, George snickered. “’Cept he isn’t there yet. Or born, for that matter.”  
  
Fred glanced at the battered calendar tacked to the wooden tent frame over Hawkeye’s cot. 1951 glared at him in bold black numbers. “Mum and Dad are only a year old, if that,” he said. “And…”  
  
George dropped onto the cot and grabbed Fred’s forearm, hard. “Do not think it,” he said.  
  
“We could do it,” Fred whispered.  
  
“No. We. Could. Not.” George squeezed painfully hard on each word. Then he dropped his hand and pressed his lips together. “Fred, the last time we saw him, you almost died.”  
  
“He’s a kid!”  
  
“No, he’s not!” George shouted. He jumped to his feet again and stormed around the Swamp. “He’s a fully-trained wizard who’s probably already killing people and will think of nothing of offing a couple of random strangers. You think Tom Riddle cares if we don’t belong here?” He picked up an olive from the table where Hawkeye made his liquor and threw it across the tent. “This is why people like us are not allowed to have Time Turners,” he muttered.  
  
“Yeah?” Fred shot back. “You didn’t think that before, did you?”  
  
“Is everything okay, sirs?”  
  
The twins’ arguments died and they both whirled to see Radar, the company clerk, in the doorway. “Uh, we,” George said, grasping for something to say.  
  
“You don’t need to call us sir,” Fred said, jumping in.  
  
Radar shrugged. “Habit,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”  
  
“No, thank you,” George said.  
  
They watched as Radar left. “Do you think?” George asked, coming to sit beside Fred again.  
  
Fred shrugged. “Probably. No way to know for sure.” He nudged George with his shoulder. “You’re right, I know.”  
  
George nodded. “I am.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Georgie.”  
  
George leaned his temple momentarily on Fred’s shoulder. “No worries, mate.” Then he grinned. “And I guess a couple of little spells won’t hurt. Have to make sure that Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office gets started, don’t we?”


	10. In Which Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Visits Korea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must give credit where credit is due - I got the idea about the twins' unconventional approach to relationships from GuardianOfLight in their story [The Slayer, the Avatar, and the Guardian of Light](https://www.tthfanfic.org/Story-9160/GuardianOfLight+The+Slayer+The+Avatar+The+Guardian+Of+Light.htm) on Twisting the Hellmouth (www.tthfanfic.org). It's a great story!
> 
>  **Disclaimer** I own nothing from HP or MASH.

**10.**  
  
It was hours before Hawkeye and Trapper returned to the Swamp, staggering with exhaustion and clad in white robes covered in blood. Trapper saw the twins lounging on the corner cot and blinked. “You’re still here,” he said.  
  
Fred and George shared a glance. “You told us not to move, mate,” George said.  
  
“Yeah, but we didn’t mean exactly that,” Hawkeye said, waving a tired hand in their general direction.  
  
“You want us to come back?” Fred asked.  
  
Hawkeye vigorously rubbed his eyes and stood back up. “No, just give us ten minutes to shower. Come on, Trap.”  
  
The two surgeons left the tent with brightly colored bathrobes (one in scarlet and one gold – which the twins thought to be a very good combination) and reappeared shortly looking scrubbed and more awake. Hawkeye went straight for the table that held his still. “Where did we leave off?” he asked.  
  
Fred shook his head. “George an’ me don’t feel like talking anymore.”  
  
“We’d rather show you,” George added. He pulled out his wand and settled himself on Frank’s cot.  
  
Hawkeye and Trapper shared a look. “Show us what?” Trapper asked.  
  
“Have we told you that we own a joke shop?” George asked.  
  
“And that we are rather well-known as, shall we say, pranksters?” Fred added. He grinned and joined George at Frank’s cot. “We have decided to serve Major Burns here a little dose of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”  
  
“We’re not even going to pretend to know what that means,” Hawkeye said. “But if it involves making Frank miserable, sounds good to me.”  
  
George said, “Excellent.”  
  
“How does this work?” Trapper asked.  
  
Fred started poking around Frank’s desk and cot. “We don’t have any of our inventory with us,” he said. “So, the easiest way is to bewitch some plain Muggle things and wait for him to use them.”  
  
“Then watch the fireworks!” George finished.  
  
“We do enjoy fireworks,” Fred said, flashing his twin a look of fond nostalgia.  
  
Hawkeye looked skeptical. “All that sounds great, but Frank keeps everything of his locked in his footlocker.”  
  
Fred grinned. “Not a problem.” He knelt down at the footlocker, pointed his wand at the lock and muttered, “ _Alohomora!_ ” The lock glowed softly, then clicked open.  
  
Hawkeye laughed gleefully. “That’s amazing!”  
  
“I always forget that one,” George remarked.  
  
Fred grinned. “Hermione’s favorite spell. Bet she’d go off her nut if she knew all the things we used it for.”  
  
George laughed. “Honestly, what does she think an unlocking spell is for?”  
  
Fred threw open the lid of the trunk. “Now,” he said. “What will pack the most punch?”  
  
Trapper and Hawkeye set to pulling objects out of the footlocker. “What would bother Frank the most?” Hawkeye asked.  
  
“Could we bewitch Hot Lips?” Trapper asked.  
  
Fred and George snickered, but shook their heads. “No can do, mate,” Fred said. “Spells like that are illegal.”  
  
“Not that we’re complaining, but why this sudden need to torture Frank?” Trapper asked.  
  
Fred threw a dark look at the supply tent, where they knew Frank was overseeing inventory. “He separated us.”  
  
Hawkeye stopped digging through a stack of Frank’s investment magazines and frowned. “You mean all this is because of Frank making you move from Post-Op to here?”  
  
“Here, that other tent Henry mentioned, wherever – wouldn’t matter,” Fred said. “Bad things happen when we’re split up.”  
  
George’s hand when to his injured ear, Hawkeye noticed. “We didn’t even bother to get a two-bedroom flat,” George said. “One bedroom has always been fine, even if Mum and Dad can’t understand why.”  
  
Hawkeye couldn’t wrap his mind around willingly sharing such close quarters, not when he was forced to here in Korea. “But, you’re healthy young men,” he pointed out. “You must, uh, spend at least some nights apart.”  
  
“What, you mean shagging?” Fred asked. “That’d be bloody unsexy with my brother in the room, wouldn’t it?”  
  
George nodded. “I mean, we do share everything,” he said. “But not that.”  
  
“Glad to hear it,” Hawkeye said dryly.  
  
Fred snorted. “At least, not exactly.”  
  
Trapper and Hawkeye stopped their rummaging and looked at them. “What does that mean, ‘not exactly’?” Trapper asked.  
  
“Well, we’ve never been ones for long-term relationships,” Fred said.  
  
“Or relationships at all,” George added. They were busy poking their wands through Frank’s things, but they were smirking.  
  
“If one of us gets rather close to a lady,” Fred continued.  
  
“We both do,” George finished.  
  
“What do you mean, you both do?” Hawkeye asked.  
  
“We switch places back and forth,” Fred said. “You know – double the fun.”  
  
Hawkeye and Trapper just blinked at them, surprise, amusement, and an odd combination of horror and respect flashing across their faces. “And do these ladies know about your _ménage a trois_?” Hawkeye finally asked.  
  
“Course,” George said, looking scandalized. Then he and Fred shared a grin. “Well, at least now with the ear and all.”  
  
Fred snickered. “None of our family knows, though. Our poor mother would drop dead of shame if she ever found out.”  
  
George’s eyes lit up, and he pulled something from the trunk. “What about this?”  
  
“Perfect!”  
  
As the surgeons watched, Fred pointed his wand at the object in George’s hand and murmured a spell. It glowed faintly for a moment, then fell back to its normal state. George placed it back in the locker, then motioned the others to pile all of the objects back in.  
  
“Now what?” Trapper asked.  
  
Fred let the trunk fall closed and fastened the lock again. “Now we wait. I promise, it will be worth it!”


	11. In Which Henry Blake Does Some Commanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished my re-watch of MASH, and I find myself desperately missing Hawkeye and the gang. AND I am up to _Deathly Hallows_ in my reread of HP, but I haven't been able to bring myself to reread it since it first came out. Wish me luck.
> 
> Again, minorly AU-ish in that Fred's not dead. And ellipses mean a change in POV.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Own nothing!

**11.**

Fred and George stayed in the Swamp until Frank returned; Hawkeye had told them that he never deviated from his routine unless they were called to OR, and that they would only need to wait until that evening for their prank to go off. Sure enough, Frank returned from his supply inventory just when Hawkeye said he would, bursting into the Swamp looking miserable as usual.

“Hello Frank!” Hawkeye said.  
  
Frank glared at him. “I heard that!” He turned on the twins. “You aren’t even supposed to be here!”  
  
George scoffed. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Major. I’m not touching anything, promise.”  
  
Frank scoffed, turning to his bunk space. When he knelt down and threw open his footlocker. “Well this is just the straw that broke the camel’s back!” he shouted.  
  
Hawkeye turned to Trapper. “Do we need a new camel?”  
  
“You’ve been going through my footlocker!” Frank sputtered.  
  
“How could we go through your footlocker, Frank?” Trapper asked. “It was locked.”  
  
“Believe us, we’ve tried,” Hawkeye added.  
  
“Oh…you take the cake!” Frank growled.  
  
“Do you want it back?”  
  
At this, Fred and George finally started snickering. Frank stopped talking, grabbed a few things, and flounced out of the tent.  
  
“Always that chipper, is he?” Fred asked.  
  
“Wait for it,” Hawkeye said.  
  
Five minutes went by. Then, right on time, Frank’s shrill scream rang through the compound. Nurses, corpsmen, and assorted other personnel poked their heads out of tents, looking for the commotion, and gaped as Frank flew through camp, barely holding his towel around his waist.  
  
He threw open the door of the Swamp, spraying them all with water drops from his wet hair. Dropping onto his cot, he clutched the towel in both hands and looked wildly around.  
  
“What happened, Frank?” Trapper asked.  
  
“Yeah, Major,” George added, trying his best to sound concerned. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“My soap bit me!”  
  
Fred and George had to bite their lips very hard to keep from laughing.  
  
“Your soap bit you, Frank?” Hawkeye asked innocently.  
  
Frank nodded very fast. He thrust out his right hand and waved it around. A red half-moon was forming along the ridge of his palm. “Right here!” he cried.  
  
Hawkeye crossed the tent to look at the hand. On Fred’s cot, the twins had moved on to clenching their fists to keep from losing their composure. “Well you certainly got bitten by something,” Hawkeye said. “Have you been around Radar’s cages?”  
  
“Of course not,” Frank snapped. “I want nothing to do with those vermin he keeps!”  
  
Trapper joined Hawkeye. “Maybe a rat while you were asleep?” he suggested. “Could need a rabies shot.”  
  
“It was the soap!” Frank insisted. He stood up, struggling to maintain the grip on his towel and look haughty at the same time. “You aren’t coming near me with any shots!” Then he turned on his heel and stalked out.  
  
Finally, once Frank was out of earshot, Fred and George lost it and fell back laughing on the cot. Hawkeye and Trapper toasted them with martinis. “To our new favorite pastime!” Hawkeye said.  
  
Fred recovered first. He wanted no drink to toast the surgeons with; instead, he and George pulled out his wands and touched the tips together. Fred grinned. “Mischief managed.”  
  
…  
  
“Colonel, this is important!”  
  
Henry put his head on his desk. Maybe when he opened his eyes, Margaret and Frank would be gone.  
  
“Colonel Blake!” Margaret said again. “This is a very serious concern!”  
  
He sighed and sat up to glare at her. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You think – ”  
  
“Major Burns and I both think,” Margaret said.  
  
“Fine. You both think that the Weasley boys present – what was it? – an imminent danger to the inhabitants of this camp.”  
  
Margaret nodded. “Yes.”  
  
“And you’ve reached this conclusion how?”  
  
Before she could answer, Hawkeye and Trapper burst through the door. “Hello Henry!”  
  
“Ugh!” Margaret said. “Can’t you see that we’re in the middle of something?”  
  
“What’s up, Henry?” Trapper asked.  
  
“The Majors are requesting that psychological examinations be done on the Weasley twins,” Henry said.  
  
Hawkeye frowned. “Why?”  
  
“We’ve been watching them,” Frank said. “And there’s something unnatural about them!”  
  
Trapper snorted. “I didn’t know you got off on being a voyeur, Frank.”  
  
Margaret gasped. “There is a lady present!” she cried.  
  
Hawkeye looked around. “Where?”  
  
Frank’s face bloomed with furious blotchy patches. “They’ve clearly lost it!” he continued. “Just yesterday, when they thought no one was looking, the Major and I saw them waving sticks around like they were magic wands.”  
  
Hawkeye swallowed, looking nervous. But he shrugged and said, “Who doesn’t like to pretend a little? Anything to forget we’re here.” He leered at Margaret. “I would think you two would know all about role-playing games.”  
  
Margaret blushed scarlet, and Frank sputtered like a dying fish. “Pierce,” Henry muttered warningly.  
  
Margaret recovered herself and said, “Colonel, we insist that something be done.”  
  
“This is ridiculous,” Hawkeye said. “Frank, you’re just mad that the twins saw your little meltdown yesterday about your hand.”  
  
Frank gave Hawkeye a furious look and clenched the hand that bore the mystery bite mark. “We aren’t leaving this office until something is done!” he said.  
  
Henry believed that Frank was actually serious. “Fine!” he bellowed. When there was silence, he continued. “I’ll put in a call to Sidney Freedman. Will that make you happy?”  
  
Frank gave a curt nod before he and Hot Lips stormed from Henry’s office. Hawkeye and Trapper shared a worried look. “Uh, Henry, the twins aren’t crazy,” Hawkeye offered.  
  
Henry sighed. “I know that! But I will do just about anything to get those two to shut up. So no arguments! The twins are being analyzed and that’s the end of it! I’m sure they’ll be fine.”


End file.
